


Whole

by Skelepup



Series: Does Jumin Han is Ace? [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: A bit of an experiment tbh, Alternate Universe, Asexual Jumin Han, Asexuality, Even if that doesn't really come up much in this one-shot, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Might be incredibly ooc but in all honesty Jumin's a huge sap by the end of his route, Self-Discovery, bisexual reader, kinda???, so maybe not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skelepup/pseuds/Skelepup
Summary: Jumin should be attracted to you. Oh, he loves you, certainly, he loves your mind and your heart and the way you snort when you laugh. You're beautiful, but his body seems to disagree. He hates having to push you away time and time again, but for once, he truly has no idea what to do.
Or, in which Jumin Han broods and discovers his sexuality.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! So, I've fallen into Mystic Messenger hell, and after completing every route I was surprised to find that Jumin is actually my favorite??? By far? So I had to write!
> 
> By the end of his route I was convinced that Jumin is demisexual as fuck. I wouldn't even say that's a headcanon as it's very supported by his dialogue in the game. BUT because I thought it would be even more interesting to write about (since so much of his affection in fanfics is shown through sexual means), I decided to go with an Ace!Jumin AU.
> 
> There are a few minor adjustments besides Jumin being ace, namely that at MC's urging they decided to wait a while for marriage and are instead dating (with MC still living in her own apartment), and that MC has a pet pit bull named Alexander (even if he doesn't make an appearance in this one-shot).
> 
> I'm afraid Jumin's super OOC because he's an extremely difficult character to write (for me, at least), and because he goes through so much change throughout his route? Plus the changes I'm sure he would continue to undergo after MONTHS of being around MC? He's incredibly mushy by the end of just the eleven days, though, so maybe this is fine? Idk. Reviews and critiques are much appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy!

He's broken. That's the only way to explain it.

Jumin paces into the darkness of his bedroom, bypassing the voice-activated lights in favor of the darkness, lit only by the soft glow of city lights and the teals of his aquarium. It's quiet in here. He's too agitated to be somewhere this peaceful. Still growling a few frustrated curses under his breath, he slides open his bathroom door and clicks on the fluorescent lights. He blinks at the sudden brightness, relishing the feel of cold tile under his feet. It grounds him, calms him. He moves to the sink to prepare for bed. Maybe forcing sleep will put this out of his mind.

He unbuttons his shirt with far more aggression than is necessary, fumbling with his tie and frowning down at his struggling fingers. Finally he frees himself, glancing into the mirror and locking eyes with himself. Frustrated silver eyes meet their match, and he glares himself down, frozen in place. He's breathing hard, hair unruly from running anxious hands through it. The sight is strange and unfamiliar; usually he can at least keep any emotions from affecting his outward appearance.

He just...he doesn't understand. He doesn't understand himself or his body and it is infuriating, not having complete control over himself.

Jumin knows he cares about you, more than he ever thought he could care for someone besides possibly Elizabeth 3rd. You'd only really been dating for two months, but it felt like you'd already affected him so much. Warmed him with your sunny smile and witty quips, with your affectionate touches and sharp mind. With your understanding, your kindness. He knows he's already beginning to open up, beginning to wake up and see life as more than he ever had before. You fill him with warmth, and he can't remember ever smiling so much, actually laughing and learning and growing. He's flourishing under your care.

So he doesn't understand what the hell is wrong with him.

Jumin knows he cares about you. And he knows you're beautiful. Some may not think so, but he catches himself staring too often to deny his enchantment. Golden eyes, piercing and passionate, always crinkling along the edges with laughter lines. Long hair that lifts and flows with your every movement, silky strands that slide cool and smooth through the gaps of his fingers. Soft edges, sharp curves, proportions so deceptively delicate. But he's seen the power you hold, your confidence when you meet his stubborn attitude with your own, squaring up against him with hands firm on your hips. It's endearing and impressive and he loves it. You're short, petite even, but always so warm, always dressed in your own intriguingly simple styles.

You're something so entirely you and you're even more beautiful for it.

His thoughts shift with his gaze, to flick from the sharp, strong angles of his face to his toned abdomen, the lean curve of muscle lining his arms. Jumin's seen himself in so many magazines, with cheap compliments pasted beside Get to Know the Hottest CEO in Korea!!! He knows he's considered handsome in a conventional sense.

You apparently agree. As reassured as Jumin is that you are here for him, not his money or his body, he knows you agree. You've tried, over and over again, to push the interactions between you two into a more...intimate direction. Sexually. He knows that. And he wants nothing more than to make you happy, nothing more in the world (except perhaps to be able to truly speak with Elizabeth 3rd, but that's a different goal for a different day).

He sees the way you withdraw each time he turns you away as gently as he can. The hurt that you're quick to mask with a grin or a joke.

It's just...the thought makes him uncomfortable.

It's not you, Jumin is absolutely certain it's not. Sometimes he has idle thoughts that he's falling in love with you, after you make a dry comment, Elizabeth 3rd happily curled up in your lap, your hair a post-nap mess. He is absolutely addicted to the way you mold against him when you hug, or when you are watching a movie and melt into one another, limbs tangled and sides pressed together, your head tucked under his jaw. He loves to hold your hand, envelope it in his much larger one and intertwine fingers. He loves having you close.

That is more than he can say for anyone else he's met. Throughout his life, Jumin's watched with idle boredom as women and men alike fawned over his looks in the media; he's watched business partners and heirs flutter shameless bedroom eyes at him during formal meetings. Admittedly, at times he responded accordingly to win over their favor, but his feigned interest was always dropped at the soonest opportunity. A cold tactic maybe, but effective.

He thinks he is a fair judge of beauty, but not once did he think to actually jump into bed with his admirers. It sounded insane. Still does, in fact. Why would anyone want to have sex with a stranger?

He always figured he'd find the answer. When he began to really know you, finding himself interested and charmed beyond belief, he figured maybe this was what he'd been missing before. This warmth spreading and blooming in his chest like a flower, overwhelming and overflowing every inch of his being. For once, he wants to be closer to someone, mentally and physically, and when you throw an occasional flirty comment of the sexual hue his way, he ignores the discomfort gnawing at him and focuses instead on the deliciously flustered feelings that tint his ears pink.

He'll be fine. He'll be ready and eager whenever you decide to advance, sexually.

Jumin tells himself this, until you actually try. And he's genuinely surprised by how uncomfortable he feels. Possibly even a little disgusted.

And with each new incident, each of your brave attempts at leading him to bed, there's the same feeling wreathed over his shoulders, heavy as stone. Self-loathing, frustration, and anger with himself.

You're wonderful, gorgeous, everything he could've ever dreamed of and more.

So why isn't he--his body--attracted to you in such a way? From how everyone else acts, he should have this insatiable urge to rip off your clothes and (and what? Fuck you? The term has him cringing the tiniest bit. "Making love" just sounds embarrassing, but at least it's better than something so brutal.)

He's certainly attracted to you, to your heart and your mind and your touch. He just...doesn't want to have sex with you? With anyone, really.

And he just does not understand why. Clearly most normal people enjoy sex; it's certainly seems to be present everywhere he looks. So then what is it about him that is so wrong?

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, rubbing at his eyes as he sighs and goes through his nightly routine. Take his vitamins and pills, brush his teeth, and so on and so on.

By time he's finished, he's exhausted from his own raging emotions. Ha. Look at what you're doing to him. Jumin's own emotions, exhausting him?

He flicks the lights back off and pads into the darkness of his room, slipping beneath Egyptian cotton sheets and a plush-soft comforter. Elizabeth has chosen not to grace him with her presence, and he sighs, disappointed. He'd never say it aloud, but he could really use her comfort right now. Stroking her fur always calms him down.

Well, he would actually prefer to be in bed with you, but that's another goal entirely.

Jumin slides his phone off the nightstand and clicks it on, intent on setting an alarm to get up early enough for breakfast tomorrow. His lock screen stops him before he can input the first number of his passcode.

It's a picture of you and him, one of his favorites. You'd taken him ice skating at a public rink (after he admitted he hadn't done so since he was a child), insisting that no one would suspect a corporate heir to be there anyways. There was also his lumpy blue hat (hand-knit by you, God he loves you and he loves that damn hat, ridiculous as it looks) that you insisted would hide him well enough. You'd taught him how to skate--the basics, at least--by towing him around the ice with interlocked hands. You'd been so patient, simply falling into fits of laughter when he would fall down and accidentally yank you to the cold ice with him.

At one point the two of you, lying once again in a heap, had accidentally tripped a pair of young children skating by, and he'd watched with soft, puzzled eyes when you gently untangled yourself to hurry over to them, apologizing and comforting the boy who had started crying. Within minutes the children were smiling again and racing away, and you were giggling under your breath as you helped him to his feet, reluctantly admitting that you were still laughing at the kids' shocked faces when they "wiped out". Something else then about how watching people fall was just "hilarious", and Oh my God Jumin, you've never watched American shows like AFV and cracked up over the falling montages? We’re fixing that ASAP.

When you both had taken a break, you pushed a styrofoam cup of cheap hot chocolate into his hands ("What is this material? Packing peanuts?" He'd asked, causing you to choke on your own drink, laughing). When he took a break to the facilities, he came back to find you gliding around the rink, effortlessly weaving between couples and groups of friends. You didn't have any fancy tricks, but there was something so elegant and free about you as you skated, a soft shadow of a smile on your face.

(He watched you circle twelve times before you noticed him and came rushing back over, flustered and apologizing. He was just sorry you'd stopped looking so serene.)

The picture on his screen is a..."selfie"? He thinks? Of you two on the ice. You're beaming, cheeks rosy and lips red, and your silly owl hat stares at the camera with wide button eyes. He's pressed against you, barely managing to be in the frame completely due to the height difference. He's wearing that damn, beloved hat, and although he's not really smiling, he thinks that almost anyone could see the softened line of his mouth, the uncharacteristic warmth in his silver eyes. He's flushed and he's more than content.

The whole picture makes him feel incredibly happy and terribly unworthy of your attention. He knows he's hurting you by constantly rejecting your advances. Guilt and self-loathing threaten to suffocate him in the near-darkness. 

He clicks the phone off again without setting his breakfast alarm and sets it aside.

\-------------

This is what he was afraid of.

He'd had a strategy, simple and perhaps not overly plausible, but a plan nontheless. It boiled down to one basic, desperate idea.

Jumin simply couldn't ever be with you in private. Ever.

It was an asinine plan, he knew that as soon as it was birthed in his mind. Even if such a strategy somehow worked for a stretch of time--picking you up for formal, public dates, keeping you out until late, and then dropping you off again for the night--it didn't change the fact that it was completely ridiculous.

And besides, he missed you. Missed having you cuddled against him, the two of you whispering conversation back and forth until even Jumin was chuckling.

Of course you'd eventually put your foot down (after the fourth date in a row out on the town. Honestly, he was sort of impressed it took that long to test your patience). You'd turned down his offer of a meal at the finest restaurant in the country alongside a carriage ride, opting instead to show him the "true wonders of high cuisine and film". So that's how he ended up alone with you, watching an animated film about a giant grinning cat with an umbrella while eating...pizza snacks? Pizza rolls? They were strangely addicting, even if he could taste the cheap ingredients mixing into some hellish concoction.

You were sitting side by side on his bed, melted against one another under his comforter, when you'd made your move. You'd been so, so patient with him. He knows that. And he wants so badly to want you.

Yet, when you slide a casual hand up his thigh, he tenses up, and even Jumin can tell how uncomfortable he looks. He can see it in your expression, in the way your surprise turns to hurt once again. Your eyes flick away, head tipping down and hand retracting silently back into your own lap.

He knows he should say something, comfort you, offer up another pitiful excuse. He always has such a hold on situations, on his own emotions (though you've been demolishing that latter control lately) but he's so lost with this that he does nothing, frozen. He feels guilty. Tense.

The movie plays on in the background, and you carefully set the plate of pizza rolls down over the side of the bed.

A moment of uncomfortable quiet. Two. Jumin's chest feels tight.

"Jumin?" You whisper, and it's not a happy, almost childish whisper like most of their secret conversations. It aches in the night air.

He swallows hard and forces himself to look down at you. Opens his mouth to respond. Can't. Closes his mouth so that the fear choking his throat can't spill over his lips.

You're refusing to meet his eyes, fingers stroking and picking at his comforter. You're anxious. Then, quietly, "Is there a..." You trail off, and even though he knows where you're going with this, his stomach still clenches cold and afraid in his gut. He can't get out of this anymore. You're going to find out how wrong he is, how he's broken.

Maybe he is just an emotionless robot like Zen always says. Maybe that's why he can't love you like he's supposed to.

You take a deep, audible breath. "I guess I just...I feel like maybe you don't--are you...are you afraid to touch me?"

And there it is. The beginning of the end. It's been addressed, and he can't hide from it any longer. He turns his head back to the too-happy voices of the movie. Then, quietly, "No. I'm not."

And you both know how true that is. He loves touching you, does so at any given opportunity. He's practically starved for physical affection, and takes it for himself with a ravenous need whenever you offer. Kisses you with greedy lips and holds you close with greedy arms, strokes your back and threads through the tangles of your hair.

So they both know how honest he's being. There's a loaded silence, and then the smallest, most pitiful "Oh" that knocks the breath out of him. You sound so...small. He hates it, hates it with all that he is. Then you're speaking again, so brave and so determined to find the answer no matter how much it hurts you. "Are you...just not ready to..?"

He stays silent, so incredibly uncertain of how to answer you. He's used that as an excuse time and again in the past, but you're smart, especially when it comes to people. He's certain you've noticed how his reactions to sexual advances don't speak of restraint. Instead they lean towards disinterested. Alarmed. Uncomfortable. Disgusted.

Jumin tries so hard not to think of how much he's been hurting you.

But now he has no choice. This entire situation is suffocating and horrible and he has no idea how to control it. He can feel sweat gathering on his head, fights to keep his pounding heart from beating right out of his chest.

"Am I..." You pause again, and your voice is so unfamiliar, so timid and pained. You're trying to hide it, he can tell, but your emotions are so strong, so used to being out in the open. "Are you just...am I not...y'know, pretty enough? I know I'm not a model by any means, but--"

Something in Jumin's stomach drops to his feet, and he snaps up to look at you, face hard and closed off but eyes burning. "It's not you," Jumin insists, quiet and troubled. He can't sit here and listen to you doubt yourself because of him. He's supposed to make you stronger, happier. Help you grow.

He isn't supposed to be stifling you like this. Hurting you.

"This is entirely my fault, MC, please believe me when I say that. You are the most stunning woman I have ever seen, and I don't know what--" he stops himself, that same choking fear grabbing at his throat. He suddenly feels so inadequate, so guilty. You already have so many things to put up with because of him, the paparazzi and terrible rumors and threats even and, and you certainly don’t deserve a man who can't even love you correctly--

"Jumin." Your hand is suddenly there, warm and gentle on his arm, and he looks down into worried gold eyes. His breathing--too fast, too shallow--fills the silence (did you mute the movie?), and he can see you grow more and more concerned as the seconds pass. He feels dizzy, vision spotting a bit.

"Jumin, c'mere," you murmur, pulling his stiff body into a hug, holding him tight to you. He tenses more, and then slowly relaxes into your soft hold, letting your hands rub at his back through his shirt and card soothingly through his hair. He's so much bigger than you, but he tightens himself as small as he can for you to wrap around him, shield him. You make small sounds under your breath, and a distant, ashamed part of him recognizes the noises from when you were comforting the crying child at the skating rink.

He's a mess.

He did this. He should be the one comforting you. Eventually, he manages to free himself from your hold, just enough to wrap his arms back around you. Your heartbeat is flush against his, calming his down from its wild thrashing.

He squeezes his eyes shut and willingly traps himself in this moment, lets it soothe him, wash away his troubled thoughts. He doesn't think, just lets your presence wash over him.

Jumin doesn't know how long he stays like that, but eventually when the worst has passed you pull back (still too soon for his liking). Oh, now you look even more concerned, all furrowed brow and hands stroking at his cheeks, his hands.

"Better?" You whisper. 

He nods, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. Greedy, greedy. He wants you closer still.

"I'm sorry," he rasps.

"Don't be," you answer. "I just...I didn't mean to upset you like that. I'm sorry, too." You turn your head to trail gentle kisses along his cheekbones and temples.

Jumin takes a breath, and he's thankful for the way you ignore his shaking inhale. "It's not you, I swear it's not. I don't deserve you."

You pull away immediately, mouth gaping open with an indignant rebuttal, he's sure (God does he love you), but he cuts you off with a subtle shake of his head. You frown and listen, staring hard at him, fingers clutching hard around his own.

"I...I know you want to go farther. Intimately."

You blink. Your gaze flicks away, cheeks flushing. "...That obvious?"

Despite the heaviness in the air, he chuckles. "Subtlety isn't a strong suit of yours, dearest."

You can't help giving him a sheepish little smile.

He looks down, doesn't want to see that happiness slide from your face. Squeezes your fingers. "I know you want to...do more. Please believe me when I say that I want nothing more than to make you happy. There's no one in the world I feel closer to."

The pretty flush rushes once again to your cheeks, coloring even your throat a flustered red. You sense the hesitance in his words, the unspoken "but", and tilt your head at him, looking puzzled.

Jumin swallows hard, wishing he had a hand free to comb through his hair. When had that become such a bad habit?

"But it's...like something is...wrong. With my body. I can discern beauty, and I can appreciate a pretty face. But...nothing happens aside from that. Nothing that makes me want to have sex, at the very least. Even with you." He chances a look up at your face, but you don't look disgusted or angry or amused. You look thoughtful. Relief floods through him. He should know better by now, but he couldn't help fearing you would reject him immediately.

"I am very, very fond of you, MC," he's quick to add, kissing your knuckles and meeting your gaze. "Do not ever doubt that. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You give me those damn bees in my stomach--"

You snort a little, despite yourself, slapping a hand over your mouth.

"--butterflies," he's quick to amend, ears burning. He's holding back his own embarrassed smile, though. If you can laugh, then you aren't too horribly upset by him so far.

He rubs his thumbs over your hands, fascinated by the framework of bones he can feel beneath your skin. They seem so delicate, and he thinks of a bird.

Jumin's stare moves down into the space between them, at their crossed legs comfortably tucked together at the knees. Slowly his smile falls.

"I believe I've always been this way. I just assumed eventually something would fall into place," he whispers. "I honestly wasn't concerned about it until you came along. It's like some crucial part of me is...missing. Broken."

You're quick to lean forward, practically into his lap, and he meets your eyes, surprised. You slide your hands up to cup either side of his face, firm and loving all at once. Your face is a deadly shade of seriousness.

"Please never say that again," you murmur, voice raw. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, Jumin Han."

For a moment, the words don't register. And then they hit him all at once and

Oh.

You think there is nothing wrong with him.

You know about him, how he doesn’t want to have sex with you. With anyone, and that has to be a strange thought for anyone to swallow, but you...

You don't think he's broken, or missing a part of himself.

Jumin stares at you, fighting against an alarming wave of emotions as they fill him up and crash around inside of him.

There's nothing wrong with him.

He knows he's relieved (he's never been so goddamned relieved in his entire life) as your comfort hits a hidden chord in his stomach. He's relieved and suddenly so so happy and he thinks he might be shaking a little, but oh God he's never heard more soothing words in his life--

(And deep inside him, a knot untangles, and the loose loss of tension is wonderful)

How long has he been waiting to hear that?

"Jumin?" You ask, sounding alarmed, brushing fingertips at the corners of his eyes. He blinks, confused out of his stupor, until he registers the blur to his vision. He's...crying?

He can't remember the last time he cried.

His chest is broke open and he can finally breathe, and he's fucking crying. So he laughs, loud and sharp and so sudden that he thinks you might be a little afraid he's lost his mind. Maybe he has. Regardless, he wraps his arms around you, falls sideways onto the bed as you squeak and clutch at him. He squeezes you to him as you laugh too and rearrange, twining your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest, tangling your legs with his.

Jumin feels so incredibly, impossibly light, and he wants to focus on that feeling with every part of his being.

He doesn't want to think that maybe you're just comforting him due to your kind nature, that maybe you will leave him for this tomorrow. Or by the end of the night.

(That dark part of him speaks out, growls desperately that you cannot leave him, and he focuses on the smell of you--a mix of the sweet perfume he bought you and the cheap detergent you insist on using--to drown out the thoughts.)

When the two of you calm down, you hum and play idly with the hair at the nape of his neck, occasionally running your foot along his calf, the gesture somehow drenched in affection that he soaks up like a starving man.

He alternates between rubbing circles into your lower back and nuzzling the top of your head.

But eventually, you do speak.

"I thought you just thought I was ugly," you half-laugh, tone…relieved?

"I'm not blind, love," he retorts, equally amused. But then he forces himself to speak the thoughts plaguing his mind before they get out of hand.

You taught him that.

"It...I know this is all rather sudden, but does it...bother you?" He whispers.

You're silent for a few moments, humming falling into silence as you turn your face up so he can hear you better. "I don't think so? I mean..." Embarrassment colors your tone and he swears he can feel you heat up. "I'm not going to lie. You are pretty much my favorite person, and seeing as how you are a very attractive favorite person, I was, uh...pretty worked up by the thought of, um...you know. The intimate stuff."

Jumin is partially amused by your shyness, but mostly he feels that same tension harden in his chest, making it hard to breathe. There's that disappointment, that self-loathing creeping over his skin like a blanket of lead.

"But," you add, voice softer. He looks down at you, maybe a little too desperate for reassurance. You smile at him, fondly. "I'll work it out. I'm here for you, Jumin. Not just for your devilish good looks." Your smile turns cheeky. "Although if you ever change your mind, tell me and I'll be at your side faster than Elizabeth to dinner."

He chuckles, suddenly wondering how he could've ever thought he didn't love you, amazing woman that you are. Some small part of him still frets that you will eventually grow weary of his problems, crave the intimacy that he simply cannot offer. He tries to stuff it away.

But your smile drops a bit as you look at him. "Jumin, I can see you worrying. Don't. I can always...you know, take care of it myself."

Your face turns red again and you look a little nervous, like maybe that thought would disgust him. It is a little...strange to think about, but not entirely unpleasant. He knows it's not fair, but he can't help hoping you think of him when you get yourself off.

Jumin's not interested at all in being on the receiving end of sex, but maybe one day he'll be brave enough to try pleasuring you. He knows you would never pressure him, now that you knows how uncomfortable it makes him. But. Well. If it makes you happy, he'll try anything. And if he hates it, he's positive you won’t resent him for it.

You look a little awkward now, fully realizing you've more or less brought up the topic of masturbation, and you wiggle in his arms to snatch up your phone. He hums curiously as he watches you snuggle back up to him, furiously typing away on the little screen. Your face is determined, and he's wondering what you're suddenly so set on figuring out.  
It takes a minute or two, but eventually your face lights up, and he blinks himself out of a content, sleepy stupor to give you his attention.

"I knew I'd heard of something like this before!" You beam up at him, triumphant, and turn your phone around to show him what you'd found. He blinks at the screen, frowning as he tries to read the words far too close to his face.

Asexuality? He blinks at the unfamiliar word, moving onto the definition trailing behind it. A lack of sexual attraction to any other people...

Something in him seems to snap into place, like that final puzzle piece that's been missing, and his breath catches in his chest. He snatches the phone from your hand, sitting up against the mattress as he scrolls down, hurrying to read more and more about this...this thing that feels so familiar and right and

God, he's not alone in this, he's not broken.

At some point you make your way behind him, snaking your arms around his chest and hooking your chin over his shoulder. You press your face so it's side by side with his so you can read, too.

"Doing okay?" You ask quietly. You sound hopeful, excited.

"Yes. Thanks to you." He rubs his face against yours a little while he reads (you laugh and squeeze him), completely enraptured by the comment threads of other people who'd gone through his same experience.

He's not broken. None of these people seem to think so, at least.

And more importantly, you don't think so, either.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and critiques are really appreciated! Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
